Tuesday, October 09, 2007



Hello. I'm from 3A. I have an IQ of 300 and I can do every paper. In the University 10-year series. My favourite pasttime is being pro, being imba, and making people awed and not slightly jealous of my brains.

Hello. I'm from 3G. I suck. Let's just worship 3A, the geniuses and prodigies-that-are. Because apparently every paper is easy.

Maths? No problem.
SS? No problem.
English? No problem
Science? No problem
Geography? No problem

Yeah well if that's the case then I'm retarded.
Because it really really just fills my day with pride, joy and absolute meaning when I barely survive a paper with my [censored] inflammed throat, and I go down to the canteen trying to find some solace, and the bombardment of exam-related questions hits me.

'I think I can only get 7 out of 8 marks leh!'
'I couldn't remember every single point!'
'Eh eh, did you notice the question asked for A diagram? Must only draw 1. Cannot draw 2!'
'Aiya, sure die one lah. Must go back study harder for Chemistry, if not sure die one!'
'Yar yar! Wah if get below 80 arh, I sure die one.'
'Linus Linus! You study already or not? Exam tomorrow leh!'
'Errrr yar...but I don't really understand mole concept-'
'HAR? MOLE CONCEPT SO EASY ONE LEH!!!!!!!!!!!!!'
'Yes but-'
'Yar lor! Just memorize formula then spit it out lah! Do so many times already!'
'AIYA HE FAKE ONE LAH! HE SO SMART SURE CAN DO!'
'No really, I don't understand mole concept! I don't even understand Chemistry...'
'Rubbish lah! You sure score damn well de!'
'Don't suan us lah, Linus, we know you damn pro lah.'
'...'

I have never, in my entire life, wished so much that I could kill my best friends. But we all know that , obviously , that I am mean and mean people don't have feelings. So being the mean selfish evil person that I am, I decided to fake a smile and pretend that everything was alright and that the English Paper being easy really mattered to me. Beating you in 1 subject and getting thrashed in 6 others really cheers me up you know.

There's something to be said about insecurities. It sucks to be insecure, and seek security, and yet not find in it those friends whom you hold true and dear, because you haven't given them the security they need. Because you're insecure yourself. And those insecurities multiply tenfold twentyfold thirtyfold exponentially for every thing that's them, every thing that's not them, every hing that's me , everything that's not me.

You know, I proudly wear the Black Shirt, the Senior Peer Support Leader title. And yet, why does the Peer Support portion seem so inadequate and mocking. If there's irony, this is the penultimate, the grandmother epitome of all epitomes of irony. Someone tell me why I'm Vice-Chairman again?

Someone tell me why I matter again? At all? I feel disposable, more than ever. The clock ticks, the pendulum swings, and it seems increasingly like that the pendulum is but a guillotine. The clock's a bell, let's ask not for whom the bell tolls. It cannot be me, a part of me already feels dead and gone. Mr Reaper came early for that piece and there's now a hole in the heart of friendship. How quaint...in the heart of friendship. Even I'm not sure which meaning it bears. A hole in the heart of friendship? Or a hole in the heart of the friendship?

Or both? Hm? Those that matter don't seem to see the tiny details, the tiny differences in these words that appear on your screen. Why do those friends not care enough to truly say anything? I'm thankful for those who have me in them, and I'm inadequately grateful for that. But yet somehow I cannot be satisfied until the others can see. Perhaps it's too mysterious, too vague? I find it bloody blatant myself, but perhaps that just me.

I don't think it's that cheem and I'm not trying to be the next avant garde poet of my time. It's just expressing myself through my words and waiting to see, waiting to find that someone who can reach behind the computer screen and touch those words and hear them, to hear how I speak them. Except that I can't speak them, speak them out loud, because I think my heart would cry if I did. I wonder what it'll take before I can find the solace I need from them; for that someone to pull me astride, aside, inside and tell me how much I mean to them, sincerely and honestly. Their faces flash in my mind, I wonder if they can feel it, and I wonder even more if they will know I'm referring to them.

They do know. They're not dumb, they're not stupid. Maybe they just don't bother, they just can't be bothered.

And that stings harder than I thought it would, to admit that I'm just not important enough to them after all.

Sometimes I look back and wonder how it would have been like if I gone to 3A, taking Biology instead. I would be in a class of smart people, conducive for learning ; as opposed to 3G, which is obviously not conducive and filled with immense numbers of dumbasses which I apparently, in your book, number in. Surely if I had gone to 3A, my results would have been much better since the immense competition would have sparked off that inner desire to excel amongst the excellence.

3G is definitely not the smartest class. We're not the academically-strongest class, we're not the sports-inclined class, and we're certainly not the best-behaved class. We're not the epitome, we do not define Victoria School's vision.

Gentleman. Sportsman. Professional.

So hooray for mediocre results and non-conducive classrooms. Hooray for spasticated laughter, random outbursts ( Tamim ) and the spontaneous acts of blatant spasticity,because that's what we do, us 3Gians of 2007, the students from the classroom across the bridge, the class that drives teachers crazy, the class with people being called up on a daily basis.

And let us all give a loud three, mega, uber, ear-shattering cheers just for the fun of it ; that's what 3G is about, no?

But at the core of it, whenever I reflect on my decision not to choose 3A, even though I knew I would be in, it's always the one simple fact that has always held true, still does, and will always hold steady and undeniable ; it's the one, immensely and blatantly clear reason I did not choose 3A, the class with excellent results and excellent people and just excellent overall.

3A doesn't have Literature.